


the sleepless stars burning

by incandescentfae



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Other, but goddamn everyone cares about him so much, i need it ok everyone cares about him so much, i write angst to cope, its fine this is fine, juno is having a bad night, nureyev is a good boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:40:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24547030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incandescentfae/pseuds/incandescentfae
Summary: Juno Steel is having a bad night, much like many before it.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 6
Kudos: 185





	the sleepless stars burning

**Author's Note:**

> have i had a string of very bad nights? mayyybe lol  
> seriously please don't read if you might be triggered-it does pretty heavily deal with Juno's suicidal ideation, and mentions a past attempt apart from FRP (though it doesn't go into any sort of detail at all)  
> who knows, maybe one of these days I'll write something that...isn't just me hurting a character I love.

Juno is good at noticing and recognizing footsteps. As a child, being able to hear Sarah coming in one of her rages had saved him more times than he could count. Her steps were much louder than Nureyev’s-heavy, slower, and usually stumbling drunkenly. His are soft and nearly silent, but Juno’s hearing has been selectively, painfully trained.

“Hey.” He says quietly. 

“Juno, darling, are you all right?” That’s a stupid question if he’s ever heard one. _All right?_ He may have changed, he may be better, but that doesn’t stop the thousand biting responses that rise to his tongue. ‘No, Nureyev, I just thought I’d sit here in the dark all alone and think about how great everything is.’ ‘Oh of course everything is fine, you know me, I’m just sunshine and rainbows all the time.’ ‘You know, when someone finds a dark corner to sit in at three in the morning it might be a sign that they don’t actually want company, but what do I know.’

Maybe it’s a testament to these last two years of growth that he doesn’t voice these responses. He doesn’t voice any response, actually, just a noncommittal shrug. There’s a moment of quiet. Not silence, just quiet. Nureyev is breathing, slow and deep, and Juno half wonders if he’s doing it on purpose. Whether he is or not, it works-he hadn’t realized how fast his own breaths had gotten. 

“Color?” Juno spares a moment to be absurdly, unbelievably grateful for this man, this wonderful man he gets to call his boyfriend.

“Green.” Juno replies. He wants to add a _please,_ or a _when I’m in your arms sometimes I feel half_ _okay._ He doesn't have to. He doesn't have to, because Nureyev knows him, better than anybody has since Be-well, better than anybody has in a really long time. (If he follows that line of thought for too long this is only going to get worse.) He doesn’t have to, because Nureyev wraps himself and the blanket over him around Juno, both a comforting weight around his shoulders.

“I won’t ask you to talk about it if you don’t want to.” He says softly. “I will only trust you know that if you _do_ want to talk about it, that would be quite all right. I only want to help, dear, however I can.” Suddenly, Juno couldn’t speak even if he wanted to, not around this lump in his throat, not without his voice breaking or the tears pricking the backs of his eyelids finally spilling over. Nureyev’s arm squeezes his shoulders gently. And then, cautiously, he presses a kiss to Juno’s head. In hindsight, this is probably what causes the words to come rushing out of his mouth.

“You remember back in that tomb? With Miasma, and that bomb, and the door?” Nureyev freezes.

“I...don’t think I could ever forget that, Juno.” He winces, but forges ahead (unable to stop himself, unwilling to talk about this-a rock and a hard place.)

“That wasn’t-it’s not the first time I’ve tried to-well I mean, the bomb was a first, but…” Juno can only watch as his face, usually so carefully guarded, falls. Understanding. Recognition.

“I do know that...that you struggle sometimes,” and oh how carefully Peter is choosing his words. Like Juno could snap at any moment. Perhaps he could. “And yes, it did seem like...more than a heroic and misguided attempt at, well, saving the world. But I thought bringing it up, it might…”

“I would have run faster than you could blink. Definitely wasn’t ready to talk about it. Not seriously.” Peter’s arms tighten, in a way that feels almost instinctive, protective. Like he is unwilling to ever let Juno leave his arms again. The thought is a nice one. 

“Juno, I...does this have anything to do with why you’re up so late?”

Juno looks away.

“Yeah.” He mumbles. “Sometimes the thoughts like that get...they get bad, and I-I didn’t do anything, so don’t-don’t worry about that.” Even if he were so inclined still, which…admittedly isn’t out of the realm of possibility, just much more unlikely than it ever has been, he probably couldn’t anyway. Between Peter, who Juno’s confided in about the scars that line his thighs, Vespa, who’s seen them during many a medical appointment (they may not get along, but…she does care, just as he does for her) and Rita, who was there when they were fresh, he can’t remember the last time he handled something sharp without some level of un-acknowledged supervision. He’d be tempted to roll his eyes and tell them it’s overkill, if it didn’t put a strange warmth in his chest. They do care, all of them. “I just…I couldn’t sleep and I couldn’t just lay there. The stillness, the quiet, its…” He runs out of words, but Nureyev never does.

“It can make all thoughts seem so much louder, so much bigger.” He murmurs, and Juno nods. 

“I hope I didn’t wake you up.” He says, the guilt setting in. “You can-”

“Dear, there is not a force in the galaxy that could make me let you out of my sight right now.” He says, and even though the words are forceful he is gentle, so gentle. He only brings a hand to Junos head, begins stroking his hair softly, as he leans forward enough to press his lips to his forehead (not a difficult feat, Juno is half in his lap by this point.) “For what it’s worth, my love…” He stops, and Juno feels him swallow hard, stumble over his words. When he speaks again his voice is full of emotion, near to breaking under the weight of it all. “I am _so proud_ of you. I am so proud of you for enduring through everything you have, for being so brave and stubborn and for _living_ . My god, Juno, I-” He has to stop again, and Juno braves a glance at his face. He’s making a valiant effort at speaking normally, at keeping his emotions under check, but _god,_ his _face-_

Peter Nureyev is crying. Juno imagines he would be wiping those tears as quickly as they formed, if both his arms were not around Juno.

“Oh, hey…” Juno murmurs. “Hey, Nureyev, hey. It’s okay. I’m fine.” At that Nureyev’s mouth quirks up, almost bitterly.

“I’m not sure this qualifies as fine, dear.”

“Okay, maybe not _fine._ ” Juno admits. “But hey, I’m here. I’m here. And that’s not changing any time soon. Okay? It’s not.” He reaches out, gingerly, to rest his hand on his cheek, to gently wipe away some of the tears with his thumb. Nureyev leans into his touch.

“I love you.” He tells Juno. “That moment, in the tomb...I had only just come to terms with it, and then-I can’t remember the last time I was that scared.” He closes his eyes.

“I love you too.” Juno says. “I love you _so much,_ Peter Nureyev. I love you.” With that, he buries his face in Peter’s neck, his eyes threatening to brim over any moment. He’s fully in his lap by now, and Nureyev only tightens his hold again, buries his face in Juno’s hair.

“I am sorry.” He murmurs, after a moment. “I only meant to remind you, I-your loss would be intolerable, Juno. Unimaginable.” 

“I know.” Juno mumbles into his collarbone, nearly surprising himself with the truth of it. He _does_ know. 

“I am so glad.” Nureyev kisses his head again, softly. He is good enough not to say anything when Juno’s tears begin to wet his shirt, only run his hand gently up and down the lady’s back, murmur his love into his love’s hair. For that moment, silhouetted against the stars, it is enough.


End file.
